


The Gentler Reckoning

by etirabys



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 11:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6564388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etirabys/pseuds/etirabys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Abandoned] </p><p>“Anyone you wish,” the soft darkness whispered to him. “One person, from the land of the dead.”</p><p>“Elisabét Castle,” Matt answered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gentler Reckoning

Prologue.

 

“Anyone you wish,” it said to Matt. “One person, from the land of the dead.”

At some point during this exchange in the vast dark, Matt had knelt without realizing. He said, with little conviction, “It is not right, to bring the dead back to light.”

“It is not right either,” said his interlocutor, “to bring some of the living back to dust. You know a number of people who were taken before their time by the eddies of violence and chaos. Your father. Your lover Elektra. I am prepared to return her to you… is it her? Say it; you will have her back.”

Matt dug his palms into the soft bulbs of his eyes. Elektra, a wildfire trapped into a human body. Elektra, beautiful and triumphant and taken away from him at the very moment they had finally come in phase…

…Elektra, who would chafe against the bonds of society. Elektra, whose hands were drenched red, to whom killing came as easily as smiling.

And oh, he missed her smiles. Matt swallowed his grief. “No. Not her.”

The gentle darkness was puzzled. “Then who?”

“Elisabét Castle.”

“Ahh,” said the darkness, swaying all around him in understanding. “Ah. A real innocent. Here she is, then… reach out, Matthew.”

He did, and found an arm. _W_ _arm_. Choked with hope — was this _real_? — he pulled her into his arms and stood up. A curly head of hair lolled against Matt’s breastbone, a collection of small warm limbs tucked into the circle of his arms.

“She is asleep,” said the darkness. “It is good that she does not see what is here. Only the blind may come and speak with me unscathed. Another reason I do this so rarely… I once told a man not to look behind into me as he led his lover back to the world of the living — but he did, in foolish curiosity and disbelief, and I had to close the gate behind him, so he would not go mad.”

“Is she… all there?” Matt said tentatively. “Lisa, I mean.”

“No one comes back from death unchanged. But she is as whole as you can hope. Go now. My debt is repaid.”

In the directionless void, Matt started walking as well as he could in a place with no ground. But in a few seconds there _was_ a ground pressing up against his feet, and the sound of New York started filtering back — the scream of impatient cabs, the footsteps and heartbeats of weary people. The girl remained in his arms, breathing softly, warm and whole and alive. Matt walked out into the street, barely minding the odd sight he must make. Frank’s apartment was only three blocks away. Surely he could make it there without a particularly concerned citizen calling the police on him.

On his way into Frank's building, Matt bumped into a woman that stank of booze and sweat. “Watch where you’re going,” she snapped.

The sweat smelled off. Withdrawal, Matt guessed. She was sober now. Adjusting the girl in his arms, he dug into his pants pocket and produced his wallet. “I’ll give you forty dollars if you describe the girl I’m holding here.”

“What, are you crazy?” But the woman snatched at the money. Matt jerked it away.

“Description, please.”

He heard her mutter to herself, something unflattering about his suit, and homos. Then she said, “Curly black hair, long eyelashes, blunt kinda nose. Looks a little Mexican to me. Pretty girl, wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt with some band on it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with her?” Matt said. The description sounded right, but… “Nothing off, nothing strange?”

“No,” the woman said suspiciously. “What, is there supposed to be?”

Matt handed her the money. “Thanks for your help.”

Frank was not in his apartment, which was just as well. Matt fumbled and withdrew his copy of the key from his jacket pocket, and managed to unlock and open the door without dropping Lisa. Once in he headed over to Frank’s bedroom, which was the only room with a mattress. Conscious of what he’d done on that bed not too long ago, he took off his jacket and spread it out on the mattress before gently depositing Frank’s daughter on it.

Then Matt stood up, listening to her heartbeat for a while. Good. Strong. Steady.

He dug out his phone and dialed Frank.

Frank picked up almost immediately. “Yeah, Red? What’s up?”

“Where are you?”

“Taking a break, having a sandwich at that place I like near Central Park,” said Frank. “Why? Something up?”

“Yes,” Matt said bluntly. “You need to come back to your place right now. It’s not… bad. It’s not dangerous. I’m not sure if it’s real. But if it is, it’s definitely big and strange and unexplainable and you’ve got to brace yourself. I know that doesn’t make much sense but I can’t say more until you come here and corroborate.”

“I’m on my way.” Frank hung up.

Matt put down this phone and sighed, not unhappily. He really liked that about Frank, his right-away-ness.

He paced around the apartment for a minute and decided, abruptly, that he didn’t want to be there when Frank came back. If this was some freakish, cruel prank and the girl on the bed wasn’t Frank’s daughter, Frank could find a way to get her to the police and everything, calling Matt in annoyed confusion afterwards. (Who was that and why did you sound so strung up about it?) Matt would mumble his apologies and not tell Frank what he'd thought, where he'd gotten the girl...

And if it _was_ Lisa Castle — Matt had no place here.

He locked the door behind him and went up to the building's roof, a small filthy area that stank of cigarette butts and overlooked a network of grimy alleys. He was perched there when Frank entered the building, heart beating fast and hard. He was there when Frank entered his apartment, footsteps going very quiet as he prepared for the unknown. He was there when Frank stopped in his tracks at the threshold of his bedroom and emitted a raw sound of pain and surprise and disbelief.

“ _Lisa_?” he said, and the hope in his voice was like a knife that sliced Matt open. He curled up on himself on the roof, breathing hard. Downstairs, Frank was shaking his daughter awake. “Lisa, kid, are you — are you —“

A change in the small heart's rhythm. “Dad?” said a girl’s voice, the first time Matt had ever heard it, sleepy fragile confused. “Dad, where —“ Then her words were punctuated by a yawn. “Where am I?”

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” Frank was saying. “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter one bit.”

Up on the roof, Matt grinned to himself in genuine elation for one, two, three seconds — and then he bent his head down to his knees and started weeping, very quietly, feeling his heart crack like an egg under the pressure of all the things he’d lost and everything he was about to lose.


End file.
